


Man Oh Man, You're My Best Friend

by lincyclopedia



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Graduation Kiss (Check Please!), Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Homophobia, Homophobic Coach, Insecurity, Love Confessions, M/M, Outing, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Panic Attacks, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23641678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincyclopedia/pseuds/lincyclopedia
Summary: The graduation kiss never happened. Midway through Jack’s rookie season with the Falcs, he and Bittle go to a bar after a win, get drunk, and are photographed being affectionate, leading to Jack being outed by the press. Jack realizes trying to get back into the closet will be messy, so he suggests he and Bittle pretend to date until the media storm dies down. This would be easier if it weren’t for Jack’s crush on Bittle.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 44
Kudos: 230
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [squidgie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidgie/gifts).



> This is my fic for Fandom Trumps Hate, a fandom auction benefiting a variety of nonprofits. To be clear, I did not make any money off of writing this fanfiction (or any of my other fanfiction). I would like to thank my lovely high bidder squidgie, who donated to a _second_ nonprofit after finding out that I had a preferred place for the donation to go _that I hadn’t put in my Fandom Trumps Hate profile._ I really hope you like the fic! I’d also like to thank my dear friends polestarneighbor, jonsaremembers, and OrSaiKellieLonore for talking me through the logistics of my first-ever fake dating fic. I might have been able to do it without you, but it wouldn’t have been as good _or_ as fun.

Jack wakes to the sound of his phone ringing. His head pounds fiercely as he reaches over to check who’s calling. George. _Shit._ He swipes to answer the call and holds the phone a few inches from his head, knowing that whatever comes next is going to make his headache worse. 

“Jack!” says George. “Finally. Thank God. We need to get a statement out in the next few hours—TMZ already has an article speculating about your sexuality, and Deadspin’s headline is flat-out calling you gay.” 

“What?” is the only word Jack can muster. What _happened_ last night? There’s a reason he never gets this drunk. 

“Oh, God, you haven’t seen?” It only sort of sounds like a question. 

“I just woke up,” says Jack. 

“There are pictures of you and one of your college teammates. The small one? Blond? Cuddling at the bar last night. You’re kissing his forehead, or at least that’s what it looks like.” George sighs. Meanwhile, Jack’s heart is racing. “You could have _told_ me, Jack. I thought you trusted me more than that.” 

“What? George, I can explain—it’s not what it looks like—”

Now the expulsion of air on the other end of the line is too harsh to be a sigh; it’s more of a huff. “You don’t need to lie to me. I _definitely_ thought you trusted me more than _that_. I have literally been in this position—have you forgotten that?”

“Seriously, George—”

“Look,” George interrupts. “You’ve just been outed, and that sucks, and as a friend I want to be there for you, and I’m sorry that that’s not how this phone call is going, but I’ve got a goddamn job to do and that means what I need from you is a sense of direction for next steps.” When she doesn’t get a quick response, George sighs and then says, “Okay. I can give you two hours, but then I’m going to need to hash out a plan. Talk to your boy and figure out how much information you want to give the public.” 

And then, before Jack can say anything else, she hangs up. Jack sits up slowly and then pushes to standing, cradling his forehead in one hand. Ugh. Hangovers are the worst. He makes his way to the guest room, pushes the door open, and just takes in the sight of Bittle’s sleeping form for a moment. Bittle’s tangled up in the light gray sheets, the slate gray comforter kicked to the foot of the bed. His face, which is the only part of him Jack can see clearly right now, is peaceful, even slack. It’s not Jack’s favorite expression—Bittle has several smiles that Jack vastly prefers over his sleeping face—but it’s a good one nonetheless and one that Jack rarely ever gets to see. 

To delay waking Bittle up, Jack unlocks his phone and goes to Deadspin. It must be a slow day because the grainy cell phone picture of himself and Bittle at the bar is the first thing he sees on the page. Yep, he was definitely kissing Bittle’s forehead, and Bittle was nearly in his lap. It’s not a particularly sexy picture; honestly, it’s just soft, and if one of their friends had taken it Jack would probably save it on his phone and look at it while traveling on roadies or before games for luck. The headline is just JACK ZIMMERMANN GAY. Jack huffs. He knows better than to expect nuance, creativity, or fact-checking from a publication like Deadspin, but still. He can hear Shitty’s voice in his head: “The bi erasure is strong with this one.” 

Jack’s screen dims and he realizes he’s been staring angrily at the headline for a bit. He taps the screen, spares one more look at the picture, and then walks into the room and shakes Bittle’s shoulder. 

“Huh?” Bittle grunts. Jack is far enough gone that he finds it endearing. 

“Sorry, bud, but I need you to wake up,” says Jack, and then he immediately curses himself for the use of the pet name. He hasn’t called someone “bud” since Kenny—since _Parson_. Bittle has never heard him use a pet name for anyone. The best he can hope is that Bittle’s still too asleep and hungover to notice. 

“Don’t wanna wake up.” 

“Bittle, we’re in Deadspin and TMZ.” 

Bittle shoots into a sitting position, eyes flying open. “We’re _what_?”

Jack’s phone has gone dark, but he unlocks it and hands it to Bittle, who stares at it for several seconds and then hands it back to Jack.

“How are we going to deny this?” Bittle asks. 

Jack doesn’t know, and he’s about to say so, but then it hits him, hard: if he denies this now, he’s never going to be able to come out. But not denying it . . . that’ll put Bittle in the spotlight, probably for months to come. He closes his eyes and rubs at them with the heels of his hands, takes a deep breath, and then says, “What if we don’t?”

“What?” Bittle asks, a little shocked and a little breathless. 

“I know this is a huge thing to ask, and I promise I won’t be mad if you say no. But if we deny being in a relationship now, I’m probably never going to be able to come out.” 

“Come . . . out?”

Oh God. Did Bittle not actually hear as much at Epikegster as Jack thought? “I’m bi,” says Jack. “I’m so sorry—I thought you knew, after Kent showed up at Epikegster.”

“Oh,” says Bittle, his voice small. “Oh, wow. Jack.” 

Jack gives Bittle a moment and then says, “Yeah. And I’d been wanting to come out someday, probably in the next year or two but definitely before my career is over. And if I play the no-homo card now, I don’t think that’ll ever be possible.” He sighs. “But we have to think about your wellbeing, too. Being in a fake relationship with the first out NHL player would suck. It would suck a lot. I want to give you an out here. If you want us to deny it, we can deny it.” 

Bittle glares at him, but there’s something soft in it. “Jack. I am not going to make it harder for you to be a queer professional hockey player. If this would help, I’m in.” 

“You don’t have to—” 

“We have each other’s backs,” Bittle says. “You taught me that, better than anyone. Let me have yours right now, yeah?”

“Are you sure? This is going to suck.” 

Bittle puts on the face that has Jack convinced he’ll get the C next year. “I’m sure.” 

“Okay. Let’s call George.” 

George picks up on the first ring and says, “Jack, thanks for getting back to me.”

“Have you drafted statements?” Jack asks. 

“I’m good at my goddamn job, Zimmermann. Of course I’ve drafted statements. I can give them to you from least-invasive to most-invasive, if that’s okay.” 

Nothing is okay, but Jack takes a deep breath and says, “All right.” 

“Right. Option one. ‘Jack Zimmermann is a valued member of the Falconers organization, and his sexuality and consensual off-ice activities have no effect on his status as such.’ That basically confirms you’re queer without explicitly stating it, and it doesn’t bring your boyfriend into it at all.” 

Jack thinks that sounds pretty good, but George is on speaker, and Bittle’s shaking his head, so Jack asks, “What’s option two?”

“Option two is ‘The Falconers organization would like to confirm that Jack Zimmermann is indeed—’ now, I have ‘gay’ and ‘bisexual’ both written in here as options, because we haven’t talked about this. If you’d prefer a different adjective than one of those, we can discuss it, but I’m concerned about the hockey-watching public’s understanding of words like ‘pansexual,’ so if you feel okay with either ‘gay’ or ‘bisexual’ I think that’ll make things easier.” 

“I’m bisexual, so we’re good on that front,” says Jack. 

“Cool,” says George. “‘The Falconers organization would like to confirm that Jack Zimmermann is indeed bisexual, and would further like to assert that his sexuality does not affect his value as a member of our team or the fact that he belongs everywhere that our team belongs, including in the locker room.’”

Jack is overwhelmed with gratitude that he wound up on a team where he gets such strong support from the front office. He looks from the phone to Bittle. Bittle’s smiling, but he makes a “go on” motion with his hand when Jack catches his eye. 

“That one’s promising. Is there a third option?” 

“Yep. ‘The Falconers organization would like to confirm that Jack Zimmermann is indeed bisexual and is in a relationship with a man. The Falconers would further like to assert—’ The rest is the same as option two.” 

Bittle’s nodding. 

“That one sounds good, George,” Jack says. 

“Good,” she replies, and then she says, “I’m surprised. Fifteen minutes ago you wanted to deny the whole thing to me, and now you’re okay with publicly confirming your relationship?”

“I talked to Bittle, and I think we both realized that it’s for the best to at least try to get ahead of the narrative,” Jack explains, and it feels more like lying than the rest of the conversation has. 

“You call your boyfriend by his last name?” George asks, laughing. 

“Old habits die hard, eh?” Jack says, glad that George can’t see him wince at the mistake.

“I suppose,” George says. “You _were_ teammates, after all. Okay, that’s all I need from you for now. You’re probably going to have to do press during games more often than usual for a little while here, but I’ll back you up if there are specific outlets that treat you badly that you wind up wanting to avoid. Obviously Deadspin and TMZ are on our shit list even more than usual at the moment.” She sighs. “Getting outed sucks, and I don’t want to force you to see a silver lining if you’re not ready for that or just don’t want to. But for me, being outed at least had the upside of being able to go out in public with my girlfriend and act like a couple without worrying about getting found out anymore. You’re more famous than I ever was, so of course there’s a paparazzi risk for you, but I hope you can enjoy parts of what it means for your relationship to be public, even though you should have been the one to decide how and when people found out about it.” 

This gives Jack an idea. “Euh, right,” he says. “Thanks, George. We’re done?”

“We’re done,” she confirms. “I’m sorry about all of this, again, and I’m so glad you chose to play for the Falcs. My job just got harder, but this isn’t your fault and I’m sorry I was so brusque earlier. Have a good rest of your day.” 

“You too,” says Jack, and then he hangs up and looks at Bittle. “Can I take you to brunch?”

Bittle flops backward onto the mattress. “Jack, I am so hungover.” 

“Oh. Right,” says Jack. Now that he thinks about it, so is he. He’d kind of forgotten to pay attention to how his body felt given everything else going on. “Can I make you a hangover breakfast and take you to dinner later, once we feel better?”

Bittle pushes himself up on his elbows to eye Jack quizzically. “Why would you want to do a thing like that?”

Bittle sounds sincere in a way that breaks Jack’s heart a little, but Jack can’t let on just how much he wants to date Bittle for real, or this will get even more awkward than it’s bound to be otherwise. So he says, “I mean, if we’re going to pretend to date, shouldn’t we actually give them something to believe in? I think George is expecting us to, anyway.” 

“Just how long do you expect this to go on?” Bittle asks, still eyeing Jack. 

“Well, we just confirmed it in a press statement. I’m the first out NHL player, so this is going to take a while to die down.” Jack hears what he just said, and all of a sudden it hits him that they’re really doing this. _He’s_ really doing this. He’s the _first out NHL player_. There’s no turning back from this. And no matter how supportive George and the rest of the Falcs organization are, there are going to be plenty of assholes out there. This is _hockey_. 

Oh, God, what has he done?

Jack feels his chest constricting, and, as he hears his breath coming in shallow gasps, his vision begins to close in as well. Then there’s a hand on each of his arms. When did Bittle get out of bed? Regardless, Bittle guides him to the bed, gets him to sit down, and rubs his back. Jack sort of wishes Shitty were here—Shitty always counts with him to help him get his breathing under control, and then walks him through his five senses—but Bittle’s touch is grounding, and Jack eventually gets himself under control and gasps out, “Sorry.” 

“You have absolutely _nothing_ to apologize for, Jack,” says Bittle, gently but firmly. 

Jack wants to argue, but Shitty has trained him not to fight this particular battle, so he just says, “Okay,” and then, “Thanks for—well. That was . . . good. Of you.” 

Is Bittle _blushing_? “Glad I could help.” 

Jack tries to remember what they were talking about right before the panic attack, but it’s hard, so he says, “You had a question that I didn’t quite answer, right? Can you remind me what that was?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” says Bittle. 

“Bittle,” Jack says in his captain voice. 

“I was just wondering how long you thought we’d be in a fake relationship for.” 

“I think we should probably keep up the ruse until the buzz dies down,” says Jack. “A few weeks, minimum? Maybe longer. There isn’t really good precedent for this—I don’t know how long people will be interested.” He pauses. “Are you up for that?”

Bittle freezes. “I just realized.” 

“What?”

“I’m not out to my parents.” He laughs a little, humorlessly. “I mean, I guess I might be now.” 

“I’m sorry—” 

Bittle puts a hand on Jack’s knee. “It’s not your fault. Even if we hadn’t confirmed anything, the pictures were already up. We were both drunk and careless, but I don’t blame you. I know you didn’t want to get into this situation either.” 

Objectively, that’s true, but Jack wonders if Bittle would still believe it if he knew about Jack’s crush on him. He tries to think of something productive to say and settles on, “Do you want to call your parents? Make sure they find out from you?”

Bittle takes a deep breath and nods. “Yeah. I mean, no, I really _don’t_ want to call my parents, but I think it’s the best bad option I have.” 

“Do you want me to stay here?” Jack asks. “Otherwise I can go shower and start making our hangover breakfast.” 

“You were serious about cooking for me?” Bittle sounds surprised. 

“Euh, yeah?”

“Why don’t you go get started with that, or shower of whatever, and I’ll come to the kitchen when I’m done?”

“You sure you’d rather do this by yourself?”

Bittle takes a deep breath. “Yeah. I don’t really want an audience.” 

Jack stands, and his headache immediately doubles. “Fair,” he says, and then he leaves the room. 

Jack stays in the shower for longer than strictly necessary, appreciating his water pressure and the way the water stays hot for much longer than the water at the Haus ever did, but eventually he gets out and starts making breakfast. He knows his cooking skills have nothing on Bittle’s—even though Bittle is more of a baker than a cook, he’s a culinary master in every sense—but he wants to do something nice for Bittle, especially now that he’s dragged him into this mess of being publicly out. 

Bittle’s eyes are red when he comes into the kitchen, after Jack’s already managed to cook a bunch of eggs, bacon, and French toast. “Do you want to talk about it?” Jack asks. 

Bittle shrugs and sniffles. “Mama said she’d suspected, but Coach seems to have been in denial, and he didn’t take the shock well. Mama says he’ll come around, but I don’t think either of them is pleased about the whole tabloid business, which is a whole extra layer to all this.” 

“I’m sorry,” says Jack, setting a plate of food in front of Bittle, who’s taken a seat at the kitchen island. He wishes he could hug Bittle, but the problem with never having gone for hugs outside of cellies is that it would look pretty suspect for him to suddenly start going for hugs outside of cellies.

Bittle shrugs again. “It is what it is, you know? I didn’t get disowned.” 

“Yeah, but how fucked up is it that _that’s_ our standard of ‘it wasn’t too bad’?” 

Jack has more to say, but Bittle cuts him off. “Jack. I can’t right now, okay? I appreciate that you’re outraged on my behalf, but I really need to focus on the positives here so that I can keep being civil with my family and not _get_ disowned, all right?”

Jack’s heart aches, but he says, “All right.” 

Bittle smiles, even though it’s a little watery. “Thanks.” He takes a bite of his breakfast and says, “Wow, Jack. This is good.” 

“Surprised?” Jack chirps. “I did have you to teach me for two years; I would hope I managed to learn _something._ ” 

Bittle smiles again, and it’s steadier and clearer this time. “Clearly, you did.” 

Jack plates food for himself, too, and joins Bittle at the island. “For dinner tonight, I was thinking maybe we could go to this nice Italian place my parents took me to when they visited? It’s not super dressy, and I’m sure you brought a button-down and some nice pants, so we should be fine from that perspective. They take reservations and I think they’re usually pretty busy, but I should be able to get us a table, probably without even playing the celebrity card. How does that sound?”

“We’re really doing this,” Bittle whispers. Louder, he says, “That sounds fine, Jack.” 

“Cool,” says Jack, and he grabs his phone and makes a reservation. 

When he finishes, Bittle says, “Do you think you should call _your_ parents?” 

Jack wants to say, _How did I ever think I could function without you in my life?_ Instead, he says, “That’s a really good idea.” He finishes eating quickly and picks up his phone to take to the living room. 

“I’ll get the dishes,” says Bittle as Jack leaves the room, and Jack is struck by the sheer domesticity of the moment even though he and Bittle shared the Haus kitchen plenty of times. 

Jack calls his father’s number, though he’s pretty sure it doesn’t matter which parent he calls right now. He can picture his parents huddled together at the kitchen table, or perhaps in the den, or on the back porch. Wherever they are, he guesses they’re together, and he’s honestly surprised they haven’t contacted him yet. His only guess is that it’s still early enough that either they haven’t fully woken up yet or they suspect that he hasn’t. The upside of George calling him at 6:00 a.m. is that neither SMH nor the Falcs nor his parents have blown up his phone yet. It’s nearly 7:30 now, though. The onslaught is surely coming. 

“Jack!” his father answers on the first ring. “Are you all right?”

“Oui, Papa,” Jack replies. “I’m okay. I have some news, but I promise I’m okay.” 

“Is the news about you and Bittle?” his father asks. 

“Yes, but not the way you’re probably thinking,” says Jack. “Are you with Maman? Can you put this on speaker?”

Jack hears a tap and then the sound quality changes. “Hi, Jack,” comes his mother’s voice. 

“Hi, Maman. I take it you’ve both seen the pictures?”

“Yes,” his mother answers. “They’re cute, honestly. But how are you doing with being outed?”

“I had a panic attack earlier,” Jack admits. “But I think I’m okay now. The thing is, Bittle and I aren’t dating. We just got drunk last night and . . . well, I don’t remember what happened really—and no, I haven’t been making a habit of getting blackout drunk; last night was the first time in a long time—but apparently we got into the position we were photographed in, somehow or other.” 

“You’re not dating?” his father asks. “But the Falcs just released a statement—” 

“I tried to deny everything when George called me at six this morning,” Jack interrupts, “and George didn’t believe me. And then I realized that denying everything now would probably make it harder for me to come out in the future, and I told that to Bittle, and he agreed to pretend to be my boyfriend for a while until the press loses interest. Just to make the story more straightforward and to ease my coming-out.” Jack isn’t sure if Bittle would want anyone in on the story, but Jack promised after his overdose that he wouldn’t keep any big secrets from his parents, and this definitely qualifies. 

“But _why_ aren’t you dating him?” his mother asks. “You talk about him constantly.” 

“I don’t think he feels that way about me,” Jack says. 

“Jack, I know it’s been a while, but when we came to the family game last year, the way he looked at you . . . I’d be shocked if he hadn’t liked you then,” says his father. “It’s possible you missed your chance, but given how much time you still spend together even though you’ve graduated, and the fact that you got into the position in the photographs in the first place, I’d be very surprised if he wasn’t still interested.” 

Jack’s stomach squeezes. He _wants_ , but he’s so sure he can’t have Bittle, and he can’t really handle the idea that he has a chance. “Papa, don’t. He doesn’t . . . I can’t think about that right now.” 

“Okay,” says his father. 

“Thanks,” says Jack. “So obviously, you can’t tell anyone that the relationship is fake. I’m not going to tell you what to say about me being bi when someone inevitably asks, because you two have been dealing with the media since before I was born, but I wanted you to be in the loop.” 

“Thanks for telling us,” says his mother. 

“Let us know if you need anything, all right?” his father adds. 

“I will,” says Jack, a little overwhelmed by how much he loves his parents and how far they’ve come in the past several years. “Is it all right if I go now? Bittle’s still at my apartment and he just came out to his parents and it wasn’t great.” 

“Sure,” says his mother. “Tell that boy we have his back.” 

Jack can’t help but smile. “Okay.” 

“Good luck with all this, Jack,” his father says. “We love you.” 

“I love you, too,” Jack says, and then he hangs up.

Jack returns to the kitchen and finds Bittle with a dish towel over his shoulder, putting a plate back in the cupboard. 

“How was it?” Bittle asks.

“Good,” says Jack. 

“They don’t mind that you’re bi?” Bittle isn’t looking at him.

“I was already out to them,” Jack says. “They walked in on Kent and me the summer I was 17. It took my dad about a day to stop being weird about it—I think my mom told him off—but even at the beginning he was just awkward, not hostile. I told them that we’re not really dating, though. I’m guessing not many people can know about that, but I promised my parents I wouldn’t keep big secrets from them again, after the overdose, and I was pretty sure this qualified.” 

Bittle takes a breath and looks like he’s going to speak, and then he leaves the room instead. Jack walks to the doorframe and watches Bittle retreat down the hall, toward the guest room or the bathroom. Jack isn’t sure whether he should follow. He decides he’ll give Bittle a few minutes and then check up on him. Jack isn’t sure if Bittle is upset that Jack told his parents that the relationship is fake or if there’s something else going on that he doesn’t know about or can’t pinpoint, but this feels like an odd reaction from Bittle. He kind of regrets that Bittle did the dishes, because there isn’t something obvious to keep his hands busy now, and he feels like he’ll seem callous if Bittle comes back and finds him scrolling on his phone. 

Jack has only been pacing for a minute or so when Bittle returns. “Sorry,” says Bittle. 

“It’s okay,” says Jack. “Do you want to tell me what that was about?”

“I think I’m just jealous,” says Bittle, looking at the floor. “That you’re out to your parents and can be honest with them about everything that’s going on right now and I just—I don’t have anyone like that, you know? You’re my best friend, but you’re just as deep in this mess as I am, and I don’t think I have anyone I can talk to about this.” 

“Do you want Shitty?” Jack asks. 

“Huh?” 

“Do you want Shitty to be your person to talk to?” Jack clarifies, belatedly realizing how his initial question could have sounded. “I trust him to keep a secret more than I trust Ransom or Holster.” 

“He’s _your_ best friend,” Bittle insists. 

“ _You’re_ my best friend,” Jack retorts. “If you want a confidant outside of this situation, I think Shitty would be a good candidate. I can talk to him less while you and I are doing this, if that would make it easier for you to say what you need to say to him.” 

“Seriously?” Bittle asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“That’s . . . thanks,” says Bittle. 

The rest of the day is a mix of naps, working out, and fielding texts, calls, emails, and other forms of messages from friends, family, teammates past and present, and what feels like every other category of people in their lives. Jack’s pretty sure Bittle calls Shitty from the guest room at some point, but he doesn’t ask. Finally it’s dinnertime and Jack and Bittle put on nicer clothes and make to leave Jack’s building for the first time all day. 

There’s paparazzi outside. 

Jack and Bittle both see the paps just before they open the door. “We don’t have to do this,” Jack whispers when Bittle freezes. “They’ll probably leave in a few hours, when it’s really dark and nothing has happened all day. I can drive you back to Samwell late tonight, later than we planned. We don’t have to go out there right now.” 

“No,” says Bittle. “We’re doing this.” He takes Jack’s hand, glances up at Jack, and, at Jack’s nod, he pushes the door open and walks outside with his head held high. 

The homophobia starts immediately. It’s slurs and invasive questions, and Jack realizes that these people aren’t here for a picture of the happy couple; they’re here to _provoke_. Jack tries to speed up his walk, because Bittle doesn’t deserve this, but Bittle is _sauntering,_ and it hits Jack that Bittle isn’t nearly as fragile as he thought, at least not when it comes to this stuff; in fact, Bittle probably has more experience dealing with this kind of thing than Jack does, given the assumptions people make about him. So Jack keeps his gait slow and grips Bittle’s hand a little tighter. There’s no one he’d rather be in this mess with. Most of all, he’s _so_ glad he wasn’t outed when he dated Kent. There’s no way the two of them would have made it through this kind of an experience with anywhere near this much grace, poise, class, or even solidarity with each other. 

It feels like an age before they get to Jack’s car, though it’s probably under 30 seconds. They have to drop each other’s hands to get to their respective car doors. Once they’re seated with the doors closed, Jack says, “You were amazing out there,” before he can stop himself. 

“I grew up in Georgia,” says Bittle dryly. 

“I’m sorry you had to grow up with that stuff,” says Jack, “but I want you to know that you’re so much stronger than I gave you credit for your frog year, and your fortitude is impressive as fuck.” 

Bittle looks at his lap, and Jack can’t tell if that’s a blush or just the effect of the sunset coming through the windshield. He decides not to try to figure it out, and instead he just starts the car. 

At the restaurant, Jack almost forgets this is all fake. He’s been to Annie’s and Jerry’s with Bittle plenty of times and been able to maintain clear sight of the fact that they’re just friends, but now he’s trying to be a convincing boyfriend and getting lost in the act. He pulls Bittle’s chair out when they’re shown their table, and he doesn’t stop himself from looking at Bittle’s gorgeous eyes and compact frame as much as he wants. 

Entrees have arrived by the time Bittle stares down his food and says quietly, “So, I’ve never actually dated anyone before.” 

“I’m sorry,” says Jack. When Bittle winces, he adds, “God, not like that. Just—everyone’s going to think this was your first relationship. We need them to think that, even after this is over. But your next relationship is going to be your first, and you won’t be able to say that. And also, this is going to be a lot. It’ll be a lot for me, and I’ve dated before and everything, and I’ll have the Falcs front office helping me handle things. You don’t have a PR department, and you don’t have relationship experience, and I’m sorry that you’re going to be handling your end of this without those things.” 

“You’re the one who had a panic attack earlier,” says Bittle gently. 

“True,” says Jack. “And you got me through it.” 

“That’s usually Shitty’s job, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” 

“I still want you to be able to call him, if you need help with that while all of this is going on,” says Bittle. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ask him what I’ve talked to him about—not that I think he’d tell you, anyway—but I don’t want you to be cut off from your support network just because I needed more people in mine.” 

Jack isn’t sure what the appropriate response to that is, but he settles on, “Thanks.” 

“You don’t need to thank me for saying it’s okay if you still talk to your—one of your best friends,” Bittle insists. He looks at Jack between his lashes. Is he trying to be coquettish here? It’s working, but then anything Bittle might do would probably work on Jack. “Did you really mean it, when you called me your best friend?”

“Of course,” says Jack. “I wouldn’t lie to you about that.” 

“Thanks,” says Bittle quietly. 

“You don’t need to thank me for telling you the truth,” Jack replies. 

“But thanks for letting me be in your life. For taking a chance on me when I was a disaster of a frog and for not forgetting about me now that you’ve gotten famous on your own terms, and not just through your parents.” 

When is Bittle going to stop breaking Jack’s heart? “Bittle, you are doing me an enormous, massive favor right now, and it’s already come at a cost to you,” says Jack. “I hope I was a decent captain to you, after the first few months, and I hope I’ve been a decent friend to you, other than last night, but I don’t think I’ve given you more than decency, and you shouldn’t need to thank me for that.” 

“Jack, do you know how many people haven’t given me the time of day because of who I am? Maybe you’re right that I _shouldn’t_ need to thank you for decency, but let me tell you: the decency and friendship and loyalty I’ve encountered at Samwell have been a huge damn breath of fresh air that I spent my adolescence fearing I’d never get, and I know how to count my blessings, so. _Thank you_ for treating me well.” There seem to be tears in Bittle’s eyes, and Jack thinks he might be keeping himself from crying sheerly through force of anger, for all that the speech was ostensibly one of gratitude. 

Jack reaches across the table and takes Bittle’s hand, because he wants to and he has the cover of being in public, so he can say it was just for show if Bittle questions him. “I’m sorry for the way the world has treated you,” he says solemnly, “and I’m glad I’ve managed to get something right with you.” He has to bite his tongue momentarily to keep from saying _I love you_. He’s not in love . . . is he? Oh God, he totally is. He takes a breath and makes himself keep speaking. “You’ve deserved better, and I want to have your back.” The words ping his memory, and he adds, “Oh, and my parents wanted me to tell you that they have your back, too.” 

Bittle blinks, possibly to deal with the tears in his eyes; possibly in surprise. “Bad Bob and Alicia Zimmermann _have my back_?”

“Yeah. They think you’re great, and they want things to go well for you,” says Jack. 

“Well, goodness, Jack,” says Bittle, rubbing his thumb over Jack’s fingers. “I’m flattered.” 

Jack lifts a shoulder. “I’m glad. They really are just people, though.” 

“I know,” says Bittle. “Is it weird for you when your friends look up to your parents?”

“Look up to? Not really. I look up to them too. _Idolize_ , though—yeah. It is weird. They’re fallible, you know? Like, I don’t blame them for the overdose, but they could have done a better job with me when I was growing up. And I know there aren’t a lot of manuals about how to raise a child when both of you are famous in your own right and still trying to have very demanding careers, and I might have been an unusually difficult child to raise, anyway, with the anxiety, and I realize I didn’t come with, like, instructions, but still. There are some things I can pinpoint where they messed up, where I think they could have and should have realized that they were doing the wrong thing if they’d just thought about it a little harder.” Jack shakes his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t complain about my parents to you. I know I’m lucky that they accept me and everything. It’s just weird when people talk about them around me like none of us are human.” 

“That makes sense,” says Bittle. “You don’t need to apologize for having complicated feelings about your parents or the effects of fame.” 

Jack smiles. “Thanks.” He squeezes Bittle’s hand and then releases it so he can get back to eating. After swallowing a few bites, he says, “So, how’s your first date going?”

“Oh, you know,” says Eric. “I almost cried, and I’m still kind of upset, but I’m here with my best friend, and it’s not boring or awkward, so I’d say it could be worse.” 

Jack thinks he might be blushing himself, this time. “I’m glad it’s going okay for you.” 

“How about you?” Bittle asks. “How does this stack up against the other dates you’ve been on?”

Jack’s smile is definitely rueful. “I haven’t actually been on a lot of dates. Kent and I mostly just slept together, since we couldn’t do anything too date-like in public, and I think we were mostly blowing off steam, anyway. I had some hookups with girls in college, and I guess Camilla and I were sort of a couple for a while, but I don’t think either of us was that into it. So this is probably the best date I’ve ever been on.” 

Bittle’s eyes are wide. “Wow, Jack, really?”

“Yeah,” says Jack. “Kent was . . . demanding. And Camilla was boring.” 

“Still,” says Bittle. “It means a lot to hear that you’re having a good time.” 

“I always have a good time with you,” says Jack. 

Bittle’s smile slips for a second, and he whispers, “Do you mean that?”

“Bittle, of course.” Jack tries to inject seriousness into his voice without going into full captain mode. “There’s a reason you’re my best friend.” 

“I’m never going to get tired of hearing that,” says Bittle, and he’s smiling again, which is good. 

By the time they’re done with dessert, Jack’s face hurts from smiling so much.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One month later, Bittle comes to Providence for the first time since right after the photos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note: Bitty is rather insecure in this chapter. I do think he gains a lot of confidence over the course of his four years at Samwell, but I think a lot of his growth in seeing himself as worthy of love comes from being loved by Jack, which means I think he'd be in a different place in spring of Year 3 if he and Jack weren't together than he was in canon. You're free to interpret things differently, of course, but that's the way I see it and that view informs this chapter.

Jack would have expected this whole fake-dating thing to mean a massive shift in his and Bittle’s friendship, but it’s amazing how little changes. They were already texting frequently and Skyping at least once a week, as well as visiting each other twice a month or so. Now some of their texting and Skype has to do with working out logistics for how to keep up the ruse, and their visits involve spending more time in public and being more physical with their affection, but most things don’t really feel that different. They’re still Jack-and-Bitty, and part of Jack wonders if that means his parents are right that he has a shot. 

Other things do change: the way the press treats him, the number of checks he takes in an average game, the kinds of things he hears his opponents saying about him, and how often his parents are in touch, just to name a few. An aging local newspaper reporter asks him unpleasant leading questions about “what it’s like to be gay in the NHL” one too many times—always ignoring Jack’s insistence that he’s not gay; he’s bi—and George gives Jack the green light to stop taking his questions in pressers. To appease the rest of management, George sets Jack up to give an interview about his sexuality to a sympathetic reporter with a national audience, which leads to Jack frantically staying up until two a.m. with Bittle on Skype crafting the perfect relationship backstory, to make sure they’re on the same page and don’t accidentally contradict each other. They decide to say they got together when Jack graduated but had planned to keep it secret until he had at least one season under his belt. Jack wishes he _had_ made a move at graduation.

The Falcs take the news of Jack’s orientation well for the most part; a couple of D-men throw him some suspicious looks when the news first comes out, but things revert back to normal pretty quickly. Jack wishes other teams took it that way; instead, he finds himself checked nearly twice as many times per game as he had been before coming out, often with slurs muttered or even shouted in his ears. Tater starts a lot of fights on his behalf, and Jack isn’t sure whether to be annoyed or grateful, because it gives the other teams a lot of power plays. (He might be mostly grateful, anyway.) 

His parents had previously let him set the schedule for calls for the most part; it’s been that way since midway through his frog year at Samwell. Now, though, they call at least weekly to check in, and Jack forces himself to be honest with them, to let them know how sore and bruised he is after games and how much he hates being the target of homophobia, and how things are going with the media and with management and, of course, with Bittle. Bad Bob gives an interview to a sports publication a week after Jack’s big interview, and then Alicia does one too, though not with a sports publication, for good measure. His parents say all the right things, and Jack is so, so grateful. 

This is especially true because he’s watching Bittle’s family struggles from afar and wishing he could do more to be supportive. Bittle’s father has apparently stopped joining Bittle’s mother on the phone when Bittle calls home, and Bittle’s mother has advised Bittle not to contact his father because he “needs some time.” Jack is pretty sure Bittle’s talked to Shitty about it more than he’s talked to Jack. Jack doesn’t mind. As long as Bittle’s getting the support he needs, that’s okay. 

Four weeks after the photos surfaced online, Jack has a bye week and Bittle doesn’t have a roadie, so they plan for Bittle to come stay with Jack for part of the weekend for the first time since the photos—Jack visited Bittle on a Thursday night two weeks ago and took him to dinner in Boston, but Bittle hasn’t been down to Providence in almost a month thanks to their schedules. Jack offers to pick Bittle up from Samwell, but Bittle insists it’s no trouble for him to take the train. 

Jack picks Bittle up at the train station. He’d specified that this time they’d be going out to a really nice place for dinner, and he’d advised Bittle to wear a suit, but somehow he hadn’t been prepared for the sight of Bittle in something so formal. Which is ridiculous; the team had gameday suits, and everyone dressed up for Lardo’s junior art show. But that was on-campus nice. College nice. Jack isn’t sure where Bittle got this suit, but it’s not something he’s ever seen him in before, and hot damn he looks good. Jack only barely restrains himself from telling Bittle so when he gets out of his car at the train station to wrap Bittle up in a hug. 

It’s a long hug, long enough that Jack worries he’s taking more than he should, but they’re in public. He’s allowed to do this. They’ve talked about it—Bittle doesn’t want his first kiss to be fake, and Jack doesn’t blame him in the least (even though there wouldn’t be anything fake about it on Jack’s end), but long hugs and handholding come with the territory of pretending to be a couple, so those things will be a part of how they behave in public for the duration of this fake relationship. 

The drive is quiet, and then on the sidewalk outside the restaurant Bittle stops and stares through the huge, plate-glass windows. Jack knows the restaurant is full of white table cloths and glittering glasses and shining flatware and men in suits and women in tasteful dresses, but he isn’t looking through the windows to see any of that; he’s looking at Bittle, who looks . . . concerned? Sad? Something.

“Are you sure, Jack?” Bittle asks, his voice small. 

“Sure about what?” Jack asks. 

“About eating with me. In there. It’s so . . . nice.” 

“You’re dressed for it, bud,” says Jack, and then he immediately curses himself for using the pet name. He’s been able to rein it in since that first morning after the pictures, but it just slipped out again. 

“I know, but—will anyone buy it? That I belong here? With _you_?”

“Hey,” says Jack, as gently as he knows how. “Hey, hey. What’s this about?”

“You—you’re a millionaire professional athlete whose parents are also rich, famous, and successful. I’m a nobody from nowhere with nothing to offer. The other places were more casual and I could at least pretend I was doing a convincing job of playing the part, looking like I belonged with you, but here? I think every person in this restaurant makes more money in a year than my parents have made in their lives.” 

Jack shuts his eyes for a second. He wants to scream, _Of course you belong with me_ , but he forces himself to figure out something more appropriate to say instead. He opens his eyes and settles on, “You are not nobody, or from nowhere, and you have plenty to offer. You’re Eric Richard Bittle, from Madison, Georgia, and you’re the best baker I have ever had the pleasure to meet. You’re also one of the best hockey players I’ve ever had the honor of playing beside, at any level, and you’re my best friend. You are kind, generous, forgiving, and gracious. No one’s worth is defined by their income—not mine, not yours, not your parents’, not my parents’, not anyone’s in this restaurant.” 

Bittle looks a little less panicked than before, but still skittish.

Jack continues, “Bittle, you matter more to me than I know how to tell you. We can leave if you want. I don’t want to make you go anywhere that makes you uncomfortable. You’ve done more than enough for me as it is. But please know that if we leave, it will only be because I want you to be comfortable, not because I could ever be ashamed to be seen with you.” 

“You mean that?” Bittle asks. 

“One hundred and ten percent,” says Jack. 

Bittle takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “Okay then. Let’s do this.” 

“Are you sure?” Jack asks. 

Bittle nods, looking at the door to the restaurant. “Yes.” 

So Jack holds the door open for him and gives the maitre d’ his name, and she leads him to a table for two in the corner, with a vase of white flowers as the centerpiece. The menus come in thick black folders that aren’t at all sticky, and it’s nothing like Jerry’s and not even much like the Italian place they went last time Bittle was in Providence. Jack looks over his menu at Bittle, marveling at Bittle’s strength, his courage, his ability to be vulnerable with Jack, his generosity of spirit to even be willing to get into this situation, and Jack knows that he has never been more in love than he is right now. 

He needs to get through this dinner without making Bittle uncomfortable. 

He also needs to spend this entire dinner making it clear that Bittle’s worthy of being here. 

Jack’s not sure how to pull off both of those things at the same time, but he’s going to try. 

“You okay, Jack?” Bittle asks, setting down his menu. 

“Huh?” Jack can’t marshall a proper word, apparently. 

“You seem pretty spaced out. Is it a bad anxiety day? Oh, Lord, here you’ve been dealing with me and you—”

“I’m all right, Bittle,” says Jack. “Just spaced out for a second. I’m not too anxious, I promise.” 

“If you’re sure . . .” Bittle looks unconvinced, but he picks his menu back up.

They’re rescued from the awkwardness a few moments later when the waiter shows up. They order, and once the waiter leaves with their menus Jack reaches across the table to take Bittle’s hand. “How are you?” he asks. “I mean, how are you _really_?”

“I’m fine,” says Bittle. 

“ _Please_ give me more to go on than that,” Jack begs, squeezing Bittle’s hand just a little. 

“Oh, honey, I’m sure you’ve got more important things to worry about than—” 

“No,” Jack interrupts, halfway to his captain voice. “I told you already—you matter more to me than I know how to tell you. I may not actually be your boyfriend, but I am at the very least your friend and I care about how you’re doing. I want to support you.” 

“But you’ve got playoffs coming up and—”

“Bittle, please. Yes, I have things on my plate right now. How you’re doing is one of those things on my plate, and I’m not going to take it off of my plate unless you tell me you want me out of your life. I choose to care about you and I’m going to keep choosing to care about you for as long as you’ll let me, so please, tell me how you’re doing.” 

Bittle closes his eyes for a moment and then opens them again with a sigh. “All right. All right. I’m . . . surviving, I guess? The team is lovely, of course. But, even with them being great, hockey kind of sucks right now because just about every team we’ve played in the last month has had it out for me. I’m getting checked a lot, and I’m taking it okay—I’m not fainting or anything—but it still sucks, and it’s hard, both mentally and physically, to take all those checks, and a lot of the refs aren’t calling half the stuff they should. Holster has started a bunch of fights on my behalf, and surprisingly so has Dex—I’m not sure if this means he likes me now or if he just wants an excuse to drop gloves—but that kind of just amps up the homophobia, even though you’d think Holster would be kind of intimidating.

“And then there’s school, and like I know I’ve never been the best at keeping up with my assignments, but it’s harder now that I’m a junior, especially with hockey being what it is. And my father still isn’t speaking to me and my mother seems to blame me for that even though I didn’t choose to be gay _or_ to be outed, and I’ve had to lock down my YouTube channel’s comments and my Twitter because I was getting so much homophobia through both of those channels, too. 

“And I guess some things were just easier to deal with when I thought that being gay _was_ my fault? Like, when I was younger and people were mean to me because of who I was, I assumed that I was doing something wrong and the way I was being treated was punishment. But now that I’ve spent a while at Samwell I know that being who I am isn’t bad and isn’t something to be ashamed of, and so I feel mad instead of guilty, and that’s . . . harder to handle, in some ways? It makes me want to lash out instead of in, but I don’t think I can. Like, that would be bad, you know?

“Ugh. I’m just so stressed and I don’t even know what it’s about. I mean, it’s kind of everything: worried that I’ll fail a class or that I’ll get checked hard enough to really injure me or that I’ll snap at my mother or that I’ll slip up and let someone know that we’re not really dating—it’s just a lot, you know?”

Their food comes then, and Bittle promptly shuts up. As soon as the waiter leaves, Jack says, “I’m so sorry, Bittle. That all sounds awful. And if you need to not do this anymore, I totally understand. I think we’ve been seen in public together enough, and I can say you’re busy for a while and then say we broke up when people stop buying that. It’ll be fine.” 

“Jack, I can’t put that on you going into playoffs,” says Bittle. 

“Why not?” Jack asks. “When this started, we said it would last a matter of weeks, not months. It’s been four weeks. You’ve done what I asked of you, and it’s cost you a lot. You don’t have to keep doing this.” 

“You know that us fake breaking up won’t solve the problem of me being out, or of needing to keep secrets, right?”

“I know,” says Jack. “But being here right now is a drain on your time, and I promise that you belong here and that I want you here, but I also understand that time is a finite resource and that you probably have better things to do.” 

Bittle’s got his head down, so it’s hard to tell, but he might have tears in his eyes. “Are you always this nice when you break up with someone?”

Jack grimaces, thinking of that final screaming match with Kent. “No, unfortunately. And what do you even mean? This isn’t a breakup.” 

Bittle sniffles and looks up at Jack, tears now clearly visible, though they haven’t started to fall. “Isn’t it?”

“How could we break up if we were never really together?”

Bittle shakes his head and shuts his eyes tightly, and a few of the tears leak out of his eyes. He swipes at them with the back of his hand. “Right. Right. Of course.” Coming from someone else, that could be sarcastic, cutting; from Bittle, it’s resigned, and somehow that’s worse. 

Jack sets down his fork and abandons his seat in favor of kneeling besides Bittle’s. “Did you forget this wasn’t real?” he asks quietly, trying to be gentle. 

“I’m sorry,” Bittle whispers. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been so stupid.” 

Jack takes his hand. The back is still a little wet, getting sticky, from Bittle’s tears. “You’re never stupid, bud,” Jack says, and this time the endearment is intentional. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Bittle shakes his head, lips pressed together, and a couple more tears fall. He wipes them away with his other hand. “You’ll hate me,” he whispers. 

“I could never hate you,” Jack replies, quiet but firm. “Never. I promise. I just want to make you stop feeling like this.” 

Bittle sniffles a little and wipes once more at his face. The next breath he takes is steadier. He looks like he’s gearing up to take a check, and Jack is at once enormously proud of him and overwhelmingly ashamed that Bittle would ever need to brace himself like that just to say something to Jack. “I love you, all right?” says Bittle quietly. “I think I would have agreed to this anyway, but I have to admit that part of me just wanted to know what it would be like to date you. Part of me even hoped you’d fall for me along the way, that all this acting would change how you felt about me and would give me a chance. And I don’t want it to be over because that’ll mean I missed my chance, especially with you in the spotlight the way you are. I can’t imagine the press would look good for either of us if it appeared we were on-again, off-again. But that’s assuming you could ever fall for me in the first place, which is clearly ridiculous, and I just need to get over you so I can be happy for you when you find someone you can actually love. So I can be the best friend you deserve.” 

“Bits,” says Jack. “I love you too.” 

Bittle frowns. “Like the way you love Shitty?”

Jack shakes his head, smiling a little. “No. Shitty’s great, but no. I’m _in love with you, Bits_. I never wanted this to be fake, but I never thought it could possibly be real.” 

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, if you are saying that just to get me to stop crying, you tell me right now.” 

“I would never, Bits. I’ve been in love with you for almost a year, and I’ve been too cowardly to do anything about it. I promise you I’m telling the truth.” 

Bittle places his free hand lightly on Jack’s cheek. “Don’t call yourself a coward, honey.” 

“I have been, though, where you’ve been concerned,” Jack insists. 

Bittle shakes his head. “There’s been so much change in your life in the last year. Graduating, signing with a team, moving, being outed—I couldn’t possibly blame you for not wanting to risk losing your best friend because you misread a situation.” 

Jack closes his eyes. “You’re too good to me, Bits.” 

“No such thing,” says Bittle. “You should go back to your seat before people start wondering what’s going on. Somebody may have already gotten a picture of you kneeling here and me crying and started a proposal rumor.” 

“Oh, God,” says Jack quietly as he stands, leaning backward a bit once he’s standing to see if he can crack his back. That’s probably not something to do in polite company, but he’s pretty far beyond caring. Bittle loves him and there’s no one else in this restaurant he gives a fuck about impressing. “A proposal rumor. That’s the last thing we need.” 

“Yeah, we’ve probably had enough decisions made for us by the overzealous paparazzi,” Bittle says as Jack takes his seat. 

“Definitely,” says Jack. “So, we’re in love, eh?”

“I’ve been loving you for so damn long,” says Bittle. “I just can’t believe you love me back.” 

“Why not?” Jack asks. “You’re kind, good at hockey, talented, funny, hot—the whole package.” When Bittle hides his face in his hands, Jack says, “Sorry, too much?”

“Jack Zimmermann thinks I’m hot,” Bittle mutters into his hands. 

“Is that a ‘yes’ on ‘too much’?” Jack asks. 

Bittle lowers his hands and says, “It’s a lot, but I don’t think I could ever get tired of hearing it. I just don’t know how to handle it, you know? A month ago I still thought you were straight.” 

“Oh right, you did,” says Jack. “And then I kissed your forehead in a bar and shot both our lives to hell.” 

Bittle reaches across the table and takes Jack’s hand. “Has it been that bad for you, honey?”

Jack shrugs. “The checks and the press have both been more than I would’ve liked to deal with, but my parents have been great and so has George. Plus, I’m not trying to juggle school with all of this. I got off a lot easier than you.” 

Bittle frowns. “It was your name in all the headlines.” 

“Still, I’ve had a lot more support than you’ve had,” Jack counters. 

“I suppose,” says Bittle. “Thanks for suggesting that I talk to Shitty. He’s been a lifesaver.” Then Bittle releases Jack’s hand in favor of clapping a hand over his mouth. “Oh, Lord, he is going to chirp me so much when he finds out we’ve gotten together for real.” 

“Yeah? Why?” Jack asks. 

“I’ve spent the past month complaining to him about how hard it was to pretend to date you while being in love with you,” Bittle explains. “I thought I didn’t have a chance, and now here we are, actually together.” He goes rigid suddenly. “We _are_ actually together now, right?”

“Bittle, of _course_ ,” says Jack. “We’ve both desperately wanted a chance with each other, and we’re already publicly out as a couple. Why would we pass this up?”

“I don’t know,” Bittle mutters. “It just seems a little too good to be true.” 

“Believe me, that’s mutual,” says Jack. 

They don’t stop smiling for the rest of dinner. 

Jack wakes up the next morning to another call from George. “Did you get engaged last night?” she demands. Jack decides to count his blessings: at least this time George is asking rather than assuming the press has gotten it right. Also, this time Bittle is in his bed, snuggling into his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit where credit is due: I first got the idea that Jack and Bitty would be photographed acting couple-y from [“anywhere i go, there you are”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12257664) by [astrid_fischer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrid_fischer/pseuds/astrid_fischer); I got more ideas for how to fake-date a sports celebrity from [GhostOfBambi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostofBambi/pseuds/GhostofBambi)’s ["Salmon Fishing in the Olympics;"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11393601) and the crowd of paparazzi is straight out of ["Performance in a Leading Role"](https://archiveofourown.org/series/54607) by [Mad_Lori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Lori/pseuds/Mad_Lori), a fic that has had my heart for seven years now.


End file.
